


A Blacksmith's Hands

by archmaestergilly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archmaestergilly/pseuds/archmaestergilly
Summary: Her Septa once said she had the hands of a blacksmith.





	A Blacksmith's Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short drabble because I love these two so much. Originally posted in my old tumblr (that has since gotten deleted).

_"Arya has the hands of a blacksmith."_

Arya had heard Septa Mordane said those words years ago, at the time when Mother and Father were still breathing and childhood was as sweet as it could be. She had felt insulted, yet she was curious. What did a blacksmith's hands look like, anyway? She remembered going straight to Mikken and demanded the man to stretch his hands for her to inspect. Mikken was, to no one's suprise, unimpressed, and had refused her request flatly. She was about to throw a worthy tantrum had Jon not been there, pulling her out of the forge and distracted her with swordplay.

Arya was angry, though she also understood that her needle work had been ghastly, so she could not really blame the Septa for thinking that way. Years later though, as she spent most of her free time in the forge, watching Gendry work miracles with iron and steel and silver and gold, Arya decided that Septa Mordane was wrong. She did not have a blacksmith's hands. And even if she did, it was not necessarily a bad thing. Blacksmiths are wonderful artists, their works were as beautiful as Sansa's embroidery, if not better since their weapons were actually useful, in Arya's opinion.

She didn't realize she had been staring for a long time, until Gendry pulled out a chair and sat across her, taking a long drag of his waterskin. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Her eyes followed the movement of his hands, so big unlike her own. Gendry put his waterskin down and Arya took her chance, taking his warm callous hand in hers. She traced lazy circles in his palms, committing the feel of it to her memories. Gendry arched his brow, looking perplexed.

"Nothing," said Arya, and she leaned forward to kiss his mouth.

She might not have a blacksmith's hands, but she would always have Gendry's.


End file.
